They Made a Statue of Us
by Pheobe Floros
Summary: Her mouth tweaks into an excited smile. “Don’t worry about me, sir. I’m not like Starling. I’m not so easily corrupted.”
1. I

From behind towering stacks of papers a mousey, brown head bobs and weaves ever so slightly. The soft rustle of and the rhythmic tapping of a left foot can faintly be heard over the whir of the air conditioning. The faint scent of iron and salami is apparent for those who pay attention.

The brown head belongs to a one Margaret Price, Meg to her friends, a twenty-something woman working for the F. B. I. Her wide eyes dart hungrily from word to word, sucking up its' information, as if filling her starving mind with delicious, informative facts. Her feast is interrupted, though, by a knock from the heavy metal door.

"Come in," she murmurs, just loud enough for the person on the other side to hear. All the while her eyes remain fixed on the page blackened with the delectable words. In steps a short man, balding already, though he appears to be only in his early forties. He stands there in the frame of the door, clad in a gray suit, almost too formal for the morning. Obviously he is trying too hard. He stands there for a moment, waiting for her to acknowledge him, and when she doesn't, he results to clearing his throat. Reluctantly, she trails her gaze across the room and up, slowly, until she glimpses the stern face of her boss, otherwise known as Charles Gordon.

"Oh," she chokes and respectfully stands. "G'morning, sir."

"Mornin', detective Price." He eyes the clutter. "Have you been here all night?"

She rocked back into her chair, grabbing a pen on the way down and shoving it in between her teeth, and nodded. "I'm close, sir. I can taste it."

Gordon's ruddy cheeks spread into a disturbingly chubby grin. "Watch your words, Price." He giggles idiotically at the humorless pun.

"Sir," she says earnestly, not even bothering to feign amusement. "I'm on him. I've got him. I'll catch him, sir. I will."

Gordon steps into the dim room and sits on the edge of her desk and gingerly fingers the papers cloaking the plastic wood.

Suddenly serious, he looks her in the eye."I know, Price. I expect you to. I wouldn't have assigned you to this case if I thought you'd just drop in of your ass. Just try not to get too involved, if you know what I mean." He winks at the poor girl and places his meaty hand over her slender one. "I just worry about you is all." Uneasily she pulls away and cradles her hand as if it were injured.

"Um, sir," she falters, adjusting her spectacles. "From what I've deducted; he's in Europe. France, maybe. Or possible Germany. There was a drop of oil on a letter he send to Starling recently. The oil is from a certain kind of flower that only grows along the banks of the Rhine river." She pauses a moment, then says, "I'm leaving Sunday afternoon,"

Gordon stands up, surprised. "You're leaving? To find _him_? On your _own_?" Price nods after each question. "Are you nuts? Do you have some kind of terminal illness?"

"Sir," she interrupts his tirade, auditioning for the role of the voice of reason, "I know the causes of your objection. And, believe me, I understand your concern. But just as I understand why you don't _want_ me to, you must understand why I _need_ to."

The room is silent for a while as Gordon stares at his scuffed loafers. Finally relenting, he sighs, "I get why you want to go, I just don't think of it as a necessity." He glances at her. She radiates confidence. Frowning, he crosses his arms over his chest.

She stands up and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Her mouth tweaks into an excited smile. "Don't worry about me, sir. I'm not like Starling. I'm not so easily corrupted."

"Then at least have someone go with you, Price. You're getting into some serious shit. Won't you at least have someone go with you?" He is pleading now, genuinely worried. She won't relent and his face grows somber. "I don't care how strong you think you are. You are not strong enough to face this creep. It's dangerous enough even with a team but without one is just plain old suicide. This guy may not seem like much, but he's a lot stronger than we could ever know." He pauses, waiting for what he hopes to be an agreeable attitude.

To his surprise, she smiles. "You're right, sir. It's crazy. But I know what I'm doing. I really do." She stares confidently at her superior, daring him to say otherwise before she continues. "I may have only been officially on this case for sixteen months, but he has been doing what he is doing for as long as I have been alive. Even though I cannot match the whole of the F. B. I. and all of its' work, I have devoted myself to this case ever since I was eight years old. If anyone would ever have the pleasure of catching him, it would be me by a long shot."

Super-confident about her exhilarating spiel, she builds herself up, ready for whatever question he is about to ask her.

"Have you actually spoken to Starling?"

Not actually understanding where this is going, she shakes her head and says, "No, but, sir, I don't really see the reasoning behind that."

"Go speak with her," he says, ignoring her reply, "she can better prepare you for this better than anyone." He fishes in his coat pocket and pulls out a card with an address and two telephone numbers. She gingerly fingers the card and stands up, ready to meet the infamous woman.


	2. II

The West Virginian countryside is quite magnificent. Price's rusty Ford putters through thick, green foliage and along the mirror-like lakes and rivers. She can smell the wet earth and the dew dripping off the leaves. After miles of tedious driving, she finally arrives at a small cottage, tucked between two thick trees.

She knocks on the door and is almost immediately answered by a woman. Her graying hair is tied at the base of her neck and soft wrinkles crowd her tired face but she smiles at Price anyway.

"Detective Price," she holds out her hand and Price takes it. "So nice to meet you. Please, come in."

The house is cold and quiet. Because it is so very dark and dismal, Price shivers and pulls her sweater closer. Starling leads her into the parlor, where two steaming mugs keep each other company on a mahogany coffee table.

"Sit, sit," Starling motions for Price to sit on the sofa while she sinks into an old, worn armchair. Price reaches for a mug, and finding it as hot as she'd hoped, eagerly takes a sip. "I understand you are on the Lecter case." It is more of a statement than a question. Price sets the cup of what seemed to be water sprinkled with a few tea leaves, not her particular favorite.

"Yes. Ah, my superior, Agent Gordon, advised me to speak with you." She pauses. "You would know the most about him."

Starling looks at her finger which is tracing the mouth of her cup, round and round. She sucks in a deep breath and looks up at Price, plastering a very fake, very tight smile across her pretty features. "I suppose that is true. I hope I can help. I want him caught just as badly as the next person."

_Of course you do._ Price matches the retired agents' fake smile. "I'm sure." She runs her fingers through her thin, brown hair. "I just need to know your experience with him. What you did, what you said. How you acted around him. He was really fond of you," she lets that sink in and Starling can't meet her gaze. "I need to get close to him, too."

Suddenly, Starlings head jerks up and her sad eyes flash. "You know that isn't the only way to catch him."

"I do. But I also know that it would be the easiest. You had him. You had him time after time but you never made that oh, so very important call. You couldn't. I can. I will."

"I never had that chance. He's a very dangerous man, Dr. Lecter is. He had me at every turn."

"But you almost had him? You were close?"

"Yes, I was, but-"

"But he got inside your head, didn't he?" She smiles as Starling squirms like a bug under a microscope. When she regains her composure, she looks Price dead in the eye.

"Margaret? Margaret, I cannot warn you strongly enough to stop now, before you get in too deep. This man, I don't know what you think of him, but I know that he is dangerous. Yes, he got inside my head. I didn't pay attention and that proved to be a fatal mistake, but what I was doing, trying to find him, was an even bigger mistake." Price opens her mouth to retaliate, but Starling won't let herself be interrupted again. "He would know if you were trying to con him. He may have aged. But I have absolutely no doubt that his mind is still as sharp as it was twenty years ago."

Price is silent for a moment, thinking about what Starling said. Much to her reluctance, she finds herself agreeing with her argument. It makes sense, that he would catch on to her true intentions. He is a genius, after all.

"You…you're right, I guess." Price frowns at herself as if disappointed at herself for thinking such a thing.

"Yes, I am." Starling smiles a sad smile. She knows the want and the desire of the hunt. She knows how Price feels. "I always think about how truly lucky I am to be alive. Every. Single. Day."

"Well, thank you, Ms. Starling." She stands. "This has been a very…educational…talk. I'd better be on my way, then, hm?"

"Wait," Starlings hand reaches out and grips Price's wrist. Price sits again, waiting. "Margaret, I see quite a bit of me in you. Now, that isn't a good thing. I know for a fact that if, ten years ago, I was in your shoes I wouldn't heed the advice of some old, crazy ex-F.B.I. agent. I would've jumped up and followed that trail until I got killed." She squeezes Price's hand harder. "Just drop this. Please."

Price's eyes flash. She jerks her hand out of the woman's grasp and angrily stands. "Why? So you can have another go? I'm not letting that happen. I have a good head on my shoulders. I would never share personal facts about myself with a maniac psychiatrist." She barks, her back to Starling, heading out the door. Her last words before she slams the door shut, "I'm not like you," echo in Starlings ears.

Starling stays quiet for a while, until she is sure that Price is miles away. Only then she allows herself to weep softly into her arms.

* * *

"Sir, I'm sorry, but that was a terrible idea."

Detective Price quietly fumes in front of Agent Gordon. He sits there, chubby fingers laced, and frowning. Starling had been asked to contact him and give a report on Price, which she had done, unhappily.

"Why is that, Price? You didn't give the poor lady a chance to talk. You just yelled at her."

"Sir, she wants me to stay away from him. I am stronger than she was. I know what he is. I know-"

"Enough, enough, _enough!_" He yells, his cheeks and nose turning the color of ripe tomatoes. He slams his fist on the table. "Price, I am damn tired of hearing about 'what you know'. As far as I'm concerned, you don't know shit." As he speaks, his anger slowly leaves him. His voice gradually gets softer and softer until it reaches its normal octave. "I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to dissuade you from this fantastic idea of you single-handedly bring down on of the most dangerous men of the twentieth century."

"But sir-" his hand cuts her off. He holds it up in from of her face, as if shoving the words back down her throat.

"No buts, Price." Sighing, he runs his fingers through whatever hair he has left. "Look, I get it. I really do. But I will not let you go alone."

Her ears perk up. "So I can go?"

"Of course. I'll have to come, too, you know." A voice Price has never heard, slick and smooth, worms its way into the room behind her.

Price turns and is face-to-face with one of the most beautiful creatures she has ever seen. Big, blue eyes fringed with dark, exploding eyelashes travel up and don her body, sizing her up. A full, wide mouth curls into a sexy smirk. Tussled blond hair falls into his eyes.

Despite herself, her heart flutters. Before she knows it, he clears his throat and she notices his outstretched hand, waiting to be shook. Suddenly professional again, she takes it and introduces herself as Meg Price.

"Jacob Barnes. Agent Gordon thinks it best I come along with you to Europe. I hope that will be alright." He smiles a toothpaste-ad smile and then says to Gordon. "Although, he never once told me what a pretty partner he would assign me to. I am grateful." Price feels her ears burn and hurriedly covers them with her hair.

"Oh, Barnes, you charmer, you." Gordon says, a stupid smile on his face. "Price, you're still leaving tomorrow, but Barnes here will keep you company. He's the most capable and jumped at the chance to look for Lecter."

"Yes," Barnes says gallantly. "I look forward to working with such…talent." It almost sounded like a hesitation and right away, Price knew. Like any perceptive person, Price can smell a rat. And although he may be pleasing to the eye, Jacob Barnes smells heavily of the sewer. That was fine with her, though. If all Barnes wanted was a free trip to France, that's what he would get. Just so that she got Lecter.

"As am I," she smiles tightly. "Will that be all sir? Barnes and I have some packing to do."


End file.
